


When There Was Nothing to Remember

by didsomeonesayventus



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst, Delirium, Dreams go very bad, Gen, Insomnia, Memory Loss, Memory Related, Repressed Memories, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didsomeonesayventus/pseuds/didsomeonesayventus
Summary: The heart knows, and will not forget.





	When There Was Nothing to Remember

It had been a weird day for Ventus. The whole waking up thing, overwhelmed with noise and people and years all at once and far too soon. He hadn’t been too overwhelmed, hadn’t fallen to his knees screaming because it hurt to remember and hurt to exist because it was too loud too soon too much, but he’d been a little quiet all day. Aqua seemed the most bothered about this, more prone to doting than the rest, but he understood why.

“Not comfy enough?” Aqua asked, her voice a paper-thin whisper.

Ven’s hands flexed on the sheet, testing the material. His spine was still pole-straight and iron-rigid. The poor pillow was begging him to just lay down and sleep. It was comfy. Maybe too comfy, actually. He was so used to that damn throne he might just nod off sitting here with the comforter over his legs-

“Lay down, go to sleep.” Aqua urged, her hands pushing him down and then pulling up the covers.

“I am.” Ven insisted.

“Not like that.” There was a small pause before she admitted, “Not again. Never again.” She smoothed over the blanket with that same look. The one with hollow eyes and heavy bags where her shoulders fell to the point of barely hanging on to her frame. She didn’t look like Aqua. She looked like some lousy puppet trying to tell him this wasn’t a crazy dream.

His eyes winced shut. He didn’t want to think about that, but it plagued every thought. Real, or not? Good fortune and wonderful coincidence, or far too good to be true? The bed felt too soft, the moonlight was too gentle, her touch- her everything -was far too mournful-

“Come on, Ven. Don’t tell me you’re not a hopeless sleepyhead anymore.” Aqua tried to giggle, but he knew. He knew she wasn’t laughing.

“Mmphf.” He huffed, pouting slightly. “I thought you never liked that.”

Aqua pulled away entirely. She was silent for a long time.

“Funny, what you miss.”

She stood and left, and he turned onto his side to watch her linger in the doorframe. The shadows of the hallways bit out chunks of her, harsh angles of black that made her body look chipped and her skin porcelain pale. The blue of her hair used to almost hurt to look at, so vibrant like a summer sky, but now it seemed like a rich sapphire that had lost its spark. Her fingers became spiderwebs on the walls, little spindles of light against dark stucco. Ven watched her sway slightly, more a statue on a rickety base than a human trying to convince herself to leave. He pulled his blanket around him tighter, a covered fist pressing against his lips.

She looked back at him. He noticed her hand grip tighter. Her smile was forced, pale pink lips parting more out of obligation than joy. “Goodnight, Ventus.”

“‘Night, Aqua.” Ven mumbled back.

He closed his eyes to the fluttering image of her sashes and sleeves trailing behind her. In his dreams they became smoke that made his lungs heavier with each breath. He was rosy faced and bare. He was vulnerable, no shoes, no armor, no crest, only the clothes on his back and the chill in the air. 

He heard bells in the distance. Slow, pensive, a clocktower, perhaps to rouse him from slumber. He turned from the bells and saw keys in the haze. He had to follow the keys. His feet carried him without a thought. Behind him he heard roars, yowls, the ungodly screech of metal and bell after bell after bell but he had to follow the keys-

As he began waking, he thought he saw a blue snake crawl across his foot.

>>> * <<<

The next day brought more confusion. Ventus had talked to himself in a mirror. Plenty of times. Who hadn’t engaged in such a silly morning pep-talk? Making silly poses, talking like the world’s most cliched motivational speaker. Sometimes it was kinda quiet, hissing at himself and his idiocy, but talking into a mirror was the simplest thing imaginable.

It was nothing like talking to Roxas. Sora had held out his arms for a warm hug before becoming a bridge between the gaping twins with laughter, but the joy didn’t last. His clone had balked, turned outright red at the sight of him with a horrid betrayal in his darker blue eyes as he’d turned to Sora for an explanation. He trembled with rage, bit his lips on the verge of tears. Ven held out his hand to say “hello” for himself and was greeted with Roxas storming out of the room.

Ventus was finally lying down, staring at the ceiling, wrestling with the horrid guilt of just.... Existing? He was watching Roxas slam the door on his way out over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over...

Doors slammed behind him like a crash of thunder. A room of checkered tiles and thrumming gears went on forever. Ticking filled his bones. He was new again. Rosy faced and bare and vulnerable to the gaping maw before him. He heard growling behind him, and looked down to see a key in his hand. A tiny, tiny, absolutely frail thing. He knew the shape: Lost Memory.

It pointed forwards. Follow the keys... follow the keys...

The world felt like it was tilting. His feet carried him forwards once more, and his heart leapt with every noise behind him. Bells, growls- roars, thundering hooves. The tile was cold on his feet, disturbed by things he did not wish to see, and he tried not to think about what he stepped on whether it be a puddle of liquid or something solid but too supple. The walls became books. So many books. Even the light of Kingdom Hearts couldn’t show him the ceiling they bore hidden in a dense fog of distance. Big books, small books, secret books, magic books, books with no name, books with no purpose.

Not the right book. None of them were. Not THE Book.

Ven followed the keys embedded in the ground. He had to follow the keys, it was all he had left.

He could feel something breathing down his neck, something heavy on his shoulders, but he didn’t dare turn around. The books became overgrown, weary as they were eaten alive by the landscape dotted with rubble-y cobblestone and weeds. So many vines, so many thorny messes of leaves, all of them climbing over walls and books and stones and keys and graves and what remained of buildings.

Ventus stopped in a field of dandelions. Hundreds of Dandelions. Some had no seeds, blown clean off in a sad, pitiful state, but some had fluff to spare and lost several with every shake. They bobbed and danced, greeting Ven and leaving trails of white on his pants. Five Keyblades embedded in the ground seemed to stand in somber vigil, guarding their floral children.

He bent down and picked one.

He woke up breathless, choking, feeling teeth and claw tearing him limb from limb and a stampede crushing him underfoot without remorse.

>>> * <<<

Ven did not want to sleep again. He’d tossed off the burning covers and stared out the window. It was always starry outside, but it gave him no solace. These weren’t his stars, the ones he could name until he fell under. There was something so real, but also so fake about them. A clever, perfect replica, but a replica at the heart of it.

The door opened. Closed. He held his breath, feigned sleep as he wondered who the hell was up at this hour-

“You can’t sleep either?” Aqua asked, her voice a paper-thin whisper.

Ventus didn’t want to reply. He continued staring out the window from his bed for a moment before closing his eyes. He kept his back turned to her, resumed his breathing, and acted as if he hadn’t noticed. He felt the bed shift, yielding to her weight. Her fingers followed, running through his hair and along his body.

“Troubling times when the deepest sleeper can’t sleep.” She hummed, and he couldn’t tell if she was taking the bait or not. Her lips pressed against his temple, her hands covered him limber frame up like it wasn’t starting to age beyond her motherly grasp. “Dream, Ven. Dream for us like you always did.”

He’d only meant to shut his eyes to fool her, but he opened them standing on a page of a book. Light surrounded him, blinding, painful, and he couldn’t read the words through the glare. He tried calling out. He had no voice.

A rustling of pages deafened him to his own scream as the book fell apart and left him hurtling through empty air. The wind filled his ears. The rattling of chains hummed in his bones. The light grew dimmer, dimmer, dimmer yet until inky black was well in sight. He felt it. The claustrophobia of his existence, the dread. This was how he died. This was how the world ended. His hand reached for that tiny shred of light.

And then the little Dandelion seed flew far, far away. He flew through darkness and into dawn before settling in a small, lonely corner where the earth was trying to reclaim itself from this tame urban jungle. He wedged himself in the dirt, grew into a young boy rosy faced and bare.

He took one step and the whole world crumbled, and buildings fell at his feet like mortals before a god.

>>> * <<<

Ventus stared at his bed. He didn’t want to touch it. He knew if he fell under again his heart would be in agony in the morning. He waited until the world fell silent before sneaking into a chair in Yen Sid’s library to wait out the rest of the night. He settled in, folded his hands on his stomach as he leaned back, and stared at the empty space. So many books. He’d read some of them already. Couldn’t bear to read more when the mission was dawn. They were too dry, too boring, he’d be out in seconds.

The candles burned low. Gears turned in steady thunks. He stared, rosy faced and bare, at the book on the desk before him. The Book. He placed a Dandelion on the dusky blue cover. The glint of the silver details burned his eyes. The Dandelion blew away, and when he turned to watch them go a Leopard was reading The Book. It wore an odd mask that locked its face in pensive contemplation. 

It lifted its head, and growled. Ven didn’t move. He felt the lurch of his stomach scrambling back, screaming at him to run, but he stood frozen. He stared at the golden eyes and the cold glint of metal, and he felt the screech of metal on metal wrack his spine. The creature was lithe, graceful, dangerous. He was clearly not welcome here.

Like the gluttonous beast it was, the Leopard pounced at him.

Ven swore he saw a gaping maw of teeth, but he staggered back whole and safe. The Book was in his hands, but only for a moment. He dropped it when something cold brushed his leg, traveled up his pants. A Snake sprung from his shirt and wrapped itself around his shoulders before it too revealed its masked countenance. He met its gaze, only to break it when he glanced down at The Book. He needed to get The Book.

As if it were envious of his attention, the Snake curled tight around his throat.

He saw stars before he fell to his knees. Wheezing, Ventus reached for the book only for a paw to beat him to it. He looked up, and pulled his hand back slowly at the sight of the Bear standing over him. He swallowed his throat, thick and dry, and tried to read the Bear’s mask for a sign of mercy. He needed The Book.

The Bear was apathetic to his plight, and apathetic to his existence as it raised its paws to crush the life from him.

Ven rolled over, and curled up. He didn’t want to get up. He was a failure. He couldn’t get The Book. When he raised his head, a Unicorn stood tall before him. He had The Book in his hands. Hooves moved closer and closer yet, and fury burned in the Unicorn’s masked eyes. Ventus looked behind him and saw Five Keyblades embedded in the ground. He turned back to the Unicorn, then at The Book. His hand moved to open it.

With a wrath Ventus had never seen, the Unicorn stomped over him and moved its piercing horn toward his heart.

Alone, weary, and flat to the ground, Ventus did not know of death or life. The grass beneath him danced onward in the breeze. The rustle of pages filled the air. His limbs took root in the soil, and he could not get up. Dandelions sprung between his fingers, and carried him to his knees before a Fox. Her mask looked somber, sad, as she read the book. Dandelions filled the air like the ash of destruction.

She lifted her head, and with greed Ventus was shook awake by his friends in the morning.

>>> * <<<

People were already commenting about the bags under his eyes. They were becoming a distinguishing trait to tell him and Roxas apart. Ven couldn’t begin to shoulder the weight of insomnia in a time like this, but here he was trying desperately not to sleep. But maybe he did want it. Maybe he’d get answers this time. He couldn’t tell anything apart anymore.

He pulled out a book. The Book. Gears clicked and hummed and crashed together in the mist. Rosy faced and bare, Ventus looked for a sign of life, then looked at the book he had picked. The Book.

_Not yours_ , a voice whispered. _Not yours._

Ventus looked at the menagerie before him. The Leopard, the Snake, the Bear, the Unicorn, the Fox. Their masks were stony, judging him. Ven knew now why he needed the book. He needed to read it. Not yours. Teeth were bared, claws curled, stances shifted, as he gently pried the cover open and peered inside. The pages flipped of their own accord, paper rustling and animals growling, louder, faster, a desperate whirl for the page, the one page he needed to read:

_The fated land will be the battleground for a great war. Light will see defeat and expire, while darkness prevails evermore._

Ventus dropped The Book, and one voice became a maddened chorus of one word:

_ **TRAITOR.** _

>>> * <<<

The words stuck with him. Everyone pulled out hope for each other, faith their quest would succeed as all others had, but Ventus could not shake the prophecy from his mind. Was this his answer? What his dreams had meant to tell him? That their efforts were in vain?

For a few nights he slept, but did not dream, did not rest. He didn’t want to wake, but even slumber felt more taxing than it should have been. When he fell face first into a nap and his breakfast, Sora returned with what he deemed to be the perfect remedy of insomnia. He called it a Tama Sheep.

Ventus thought it must have been some sort of cute doll until Sora presented a wriggling, baaing, technicolor sheep that made his mind explode in the worst way. The sharp ache of pain he could barely see through, blinding agony as he tried to recall where he’d see the emblem plastered on the poor creature having to deal with him screaming for Sora to take it away.

He could still see the pallor of Aqua’s skin draining, the wrinkles and lines in her features drawing taut as she worried if he was going to fall under like he had so many times before.

Ven rolled over in his bed, then sat up. Rosy faced and bare, he walked onto a plush carpet of grass and Dandelions and wildflowers. An intricate clocktower veiled in lilac dawn stood miles away before him, hovering over a homely little down too sleepy to feel any busier than the first few hours of the day.

He looked down and saw the masked Fox. She looked up at him, a Dandelion in her mouth. She turned around and trotted away, and Ventus followed. He followed her through Dandelions, through cobbled streets, through gardens and sewers. She seemed so close, but always so far from his grasp when he tried to catch her.

She trotted to her companions, a single paw gracefully placed upon The Book.

Ventus spoke: “Who are you?”

_Masters. Apprentices. Guides. Pupils. Youthful. Ancient._ He seemed to hear too many voices to be just one. Male and female, out of sync and out of time. _We watch. We wait. We worry._

Ventus looked at The Book. He pointed at it. “I want that.”

Teeth were bared, hooves stomped, the voices roared with a wrath and fury unheard that made Ventus turn and cower: _TRAITOR! TRAITOR!! TRAITOR!!!_

But as the voices dimmed, Ventus turned and saw the Snake gently consoling her peers. Her scales smoothed the bristled fur of the Fox and Leopard. She scratched just right between the Bear’s ears. She wrapped around the Unicorn’s leg with a small rub of her head. When finished, she lifted her gaze to the boy.

_You cannot have it. No one should._ The others repeated the words in a clamoring murmur: _No one should... No one should...._

The Fox walked up to him, and in her golden eyes he saw himself. Small, and scared. She dropped The Book and nudged it to him. _The garden. The truth._

She looked away, and Ven’s eyes followed to see Five Keyblades embedded in the ground. A beautiful woman he could only describe as a Valkyrie stood before them now, in one hand a Dandelion with seeds coating the same arm, and in another a Rose that bound her arm in tight thorns. He could not see her eyes under the shadow of a dark hood lined with red feathers.

She wept. He wept. She wept blood, and so did he. It was vermillion waves that carried him from sleep, and in their gentle, rocking grasp he awoke to mourning nothing.

>>> * <<<

For the first time in his life, he looked to books for answers. He poured himself into ancient texts when he could, looked for omens and symbols and their meanings. He closed each one just as confused as he’d been when he started. Aqua checked in, smoothing his hair and finding him other texts to search and give advice, but it all felt distant. Her hands approached their hold with hesitation. Kairi left him a lunch box that had gone untouched. Sora tried to drag him from his chair, but even he gave up when he realized Ven wasn’t leaving. Riku came in only to ask how things were going before nodding in understanding and leaving.

Ven looked at one pile of books. He looked at the other.

He picked up The Book, and read the passage again and again. He stood, tucked it under his arm, turned, and nodded- rosy faced and bare -at the Fox. She ran off, and he followed. Through buildings, around corners, and soon he was the wind chasing after her. 

The Fox stopped before a hedge of roses, tamed only by nature. The green was too green. The red was too red. Ventus didn’t want to touch it. He turned back, wondering if he could hide from it in the huddling buildings behind him. He licked his lips.

He knelt down, “The garden?”

The Fox nodded, and gently took The Book from him before giving it to a small cat with a small purse. He smiled at it. It waved, tucked The Book in its purse, and vanished with a puff of smoke.

He nodded, stood, and pressed his hand to the bushes. The branches ate it, then his wrist, his arm, and soon enough him. Thorns bit into his flesh and dragged him further in with every struggle. He tried to scream, and thorns tore his throat. Voices- his friends -called for his help. They weren’t voices of water or earth or flesh, but of fate and wind and fleeting light. He wanted to help them. The Book was safe, he could help them-

He stumbled into a glade of Dandelions, all of them circling a single bird of paradise. It swayed, wilting and struggling to stay upright. The wind blew the Dandelions away. The Roses drew closer. Ven’s chest drew itself as tight as a full-bent bow. It left his throat dry and stomach nauseous, say nothing of his heart beating wildly to find the Fox again.

He knelt next to the frail flower, bending his head and holding out his hand. He only wished to cradle it, support what could barely support itself. He wasn’t better at anything more than such, and what else could he offer the poor thing? His sympathy wouldn’t do.

In a blinding flash the flower was reaped, and he scarcely had time to even think of how his hand had been stolen until the Roses struck. The thorns were everywhere, they pulled him everywhere like puppet strings. Thorns were buried in his flesh and in his mouth and in his eyes and in his bones. He had no flesh left. His Friends screamed, and he understood.

The War. The Traitor. The Dandelions. The Fox. The Book.

The Book. The Fox. The Dandelions. The Traitor. The War.

Though he knew these dreams, Ventus awoke screaming. He clawed at the sheets for reality, and for every empty space in his lungs he forced any air left out from them before hurtling into a deep breath to continue his wail. The Keyblade War. He had seen the Keyblade War. He had seen death a hundredfold and the despair of the worlds and the end of everything when he was just a child, a babe, a newborn in this cosmos-

“VENTUS PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!”

Ven’s voice trickled into a small whine when Aqua held his face tight, commanding him as an unruly child and not a survivor. He was crying. She was crying. He didn’t know if it was blood or tears or-

“Ven... what happened?” Aqua asked, her voice a paper-thin whisper. Their eyes were scarcely an inch apart.

He was rosy faced and bare, he had seen The Book, he had known the Fox, he had seen the end. He had no words, only the barest of whines, and it felt like his throat was still raw and bleeding. Her sleeve wiped the corners of his mouth, ducked under his nose. She didn’t care what soiled the blue cloth, but it at least wasn’t blood.

“I was... I was there.” He croaked at last.

“There? Where?” She asked.

“T-the war. Th-th-the War, Aqua.” Ven whispered, “The Keyblade War.”

Her hands pressed his hair down. Dream smaller, Ventus, dream smaller. “A nightmare. It won’t happen and if it does-”

“It did.” Dream smaller, don’t dream, don’t rest, follow the keys- “I was there. A Fox. Roses. Dandelions-”

“A nightmare, Ventus.” Aqua insisted. She held him tighter, “And they won’t take you.”

Ventus repeated himself , getting louder, bolder, persisting with his story. “There was a Fox, and Roses, and Dandelions-” 

“Ventus it was thousands of years ago.” He could feel her standing on his heart, crushing it into submission and silence.

“Aqua there was a Book. The Book. I have to find it and I have to keep it safe the Fox told me to and told us to and the Dandelions-”

“Ventus, you’re not making any sense...” Aqua whispered. He knew the waiver of her voice, uncertain and terrified.

He clung to her and wept. About The Book. 

The Fox. 

The Dandelions. 

The Traitor. 

The War.

And how he was losing his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Look I really hate where X is going so can I at least torture my baby boy with horrible and fragmented visions of a past he can't remember.


End file.
